


I'll Be Trouble, You're So Nice

by summerstorm



Category: Wild Child (2008)
Genre: Boarding School, Denial, Drunkenness, F/F, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she expected no revelations in months of sharing classes and lacrosse practice and a dorm and <em>friends</em>, she doesn't see why her stomach should feel disquieted by the idea of Poppy being single now. It's still senseless. Dorm mates are off-limits by definition, and friends who have dated a boy are the kind of crushes you <em>have</em> to write off as folly and forget about. Kate is not an idiot. She knows better than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Trouble, You're So Nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunsetmog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/gifts).



> Thank you so much to shewhoguards and Jenn for betaing and answering all sorts of ridiculous, basic questions. Title from Jack McManus's _You Think I Don't Care_.

Poppy's dad drops Freddie off at LAX two weeks before the beginning of the school year. When he gets back, it's dark out and Poppy and her girls are sitting around the living room eating pizza, watching MTV. Attempting to watch it, at least—it's hard to hear much over the sound of Drippy babbling on about her new boyfriend and Kiki listing off the clubs she wants to hit before they go back to England.

"If American boys were like that, I wouldn't have this many gray hairs," Poppy's dad says, keys clanking against the kitchen counter as he makes his way across the house.

Josie chuckles and mutters into her ear, "If English boys were all like that, none of us would ever get snogged," and Poppy laughs and hits Josie's thigh with the back of her hand.

Drippy looks over the back of the couch and yells, "Isn't he just dreamy?" just as Poppy's dad reaches the doorway. Poppy would throw a pillow at Drippy's head if he weren't standing there, and she almost does anyway.

"I was thinking _nice_," Poppy's dad says. "But I guess your description would work for some."

Later that night, they're setting the table for dinner when it's only her, her dad, and her sister in the kitchen. Molly says, "See? I told you it was a good idea to enlist Mrs. Kingsley's son in the Education of Poppy Moore."

Poppy's eyes widen. "The _what_?"

"I never called it that," her dad says. "But I'm glad you're not jumping from guy to guy anymore. Your therapist isn't all that happy, but my wallet thanks you profusely."

She makes a note, and later, when she knows she's going to wake Freddie at ass o'clock in the morning, she calls and opens with, "So, hey, Freddie. Did it at any point during the few weeks you gave me the silent treatment occur to you to tell me you were _hired_ to keep an eye on me?"

Freddie just laughs, a sound deep and throaty that suddenly rings annoying in Poppy's ears. "I didn't think it mattered." Poppy glares even though he can't see her. "Hey. It wasn't like I was getting paid for it. I got to know you, I liked you. It's not like it was a big burden or anything."

"Gee, thanks, Freddie," Poppy says, and hangs up. It's immature, but that's her thing. She never pretended otherwise.

Freddie always did.

 

*

 

"Does it count as a break-up if you're not sure you want someone's lying lips on you ever again but haven't told them so in as many words?"

The five of them are lying on the pool and Kate knows hers is the only head that doesn't turn.

"You're splitting up with Freddie?" Drippy asks. "Can I have him?"

Poppy laughs and says, "I think I already have."

Kate's not getting her hopes up. She's not looking, because she's over this. She's over looking at Poppy like she's missed something and if she looks now she's going to spot something she never noticed before. A revelation of sorts.

"I don't think your boyfriend would like that, Drippy," says Josie.

"Oh, that," Drippy says dispiritedly.

"I don't even know if it makes sense," Poppy says.

Kiki shrugs. "It doesn't have to make sense. Either you feel it or you don't. And if you don't, you get out of it." And if you do, you get out of it too. It's a message Kate can support—even take as discouraging advice for herself. If she expected no revelations in months of sharing classes and lacrosse practice and a dorm and _friends_, she doesn't see why her stomach should feel disquieted by the idea of Poppy being single.

It's still senseless. Dorm mates are off-limits by definition, and friends who have dated a boy are the kind of crushes you _have_ to write off as folly and forget about. Kate is not an idiot. She knows better than this.

"I don't know," Poppy goes on. "I feel like there's something wrong with me for not wanting this. Like, I like him. I should be happy I have someone I can make out with on a regular basis without getting labelled a slut."

"Not that the term carries any meaning at this point," Kiki points out.

"Having a boyfriend does spare you the social obligation of hooking up with random people at parties," Drippy says, not even remotely serious.

"I think you guys are why Freddie and I lasted so long," says Poppy.

"Oh, now you're blaming your heretofore seemingly happy relationship you only now find meaningless on us?" Kiki says. "All right, I suppose I can take the blame for that."

"I didn't mean it like that," Poppy laughs.

"You'll rule the world one day, Kiki," Kate says.

They're going back to England in less than a fortnight. Poppy will see Freddie and how pretty he is with his shaggy blond hair and disarming smile and this will just be a bump on the road.

Kate likes the friends thing, anyway.

 

*

 

They're waiting for Mrs. Kingsley to arrive at the dining hall when Freddie walks in.

When Poppy pictured this moment during the summer, she thought Freddie would sneak a naughty smile at her and she'd smirk right back and she'd be sure he'd be waiting in his car to welcome her back to England after class.

Even after their not-really-a-break-up, Poppy figured she'd smile or something. Not avoid his gaze like a complete moron.

"Oh, Christ," Drippy says when Poppy's eyes settle on her shoes. "Aren't we a bit too mature for the silent treatment?"

"Drippy, you're wearing an octopus pendant," Poppy says. She looks at Kate, for—guidance, she thinks. It's a little strange how customary it's become to ask Kate's advice.

"On a maturity scale, Drippy's just a notch above you right now," Kate jokes. "But it's not like you're sending hate notes or anything, so you should be all right. Long as you talk to him sometime before Christmas so you're sure he knows you're not just on a break."

It's an entirely reasonable idea.

"I'd wait and let him buy me a hideously expensive Christmas gift as an apology," Drippy says. "Though, what Kate suggested might not screw up your karma. Since you're Buddhist and all. But I still think it would be nice if somebody took my advice for once."

"That is a viable alternative," Poppy says perkily, and Kate shakes her head.

 

*

 

Their second weekend back, they sneak out before curfew and split the cost of a taxi to take them to the nearest active town.

It's fun—they get more than a little drunk and by the time they hit a pub where they can actually sit down, Kiki has to run to the bathroom to throw up, and Kate ends up flirting with the girl playing piano in the middle of the place while Josie gets their drinks at the bar.

The piano player has deep black hair with blue streaks and a tattoo below her collarbone spelling out some of the lyrics to Caught In A Moment by Sugababes. If Kate had a type, this girl would not be it, but it's nice to let go and talk to somebody like this—especially someone who plays this well while slightly inebriated. If Kate had a few more margaritas on her, she would take the hint and sit on her lap.

As it is, though, she just goes back to their table when she spots Josie slithering through the crowd.

"I just got ourselves a jukebox," Kate says proudly.

"Girls are not objects," Drippy protests, and then cracks up.

"That's not how I meant that," Kate says defensively, but she's laughing too.

Later, they take advantage of the randomly warm late September weather by lying on the grass within school grounds, hidden away by trees swaying in the soft breeze. At one point, Drippy and Kiki and Josie are dancing to imaginary music a little ways away and it's just Kate and Poppy and distant laughter and the companionable sound of their breathing.

Poppy stares straight up at the stars and says, "So you're into girls, right?"

Kate shifts on her elbows, at once thankful for the jacket and worried about possible grass stains. She can feel the damp ground through her trousers.

"If you're going to act like I'm carrying a contagious disease if I say yes," Kate begins carefully, "then, no. No, I'm completely straight."

Poppy chuckles. "That sounded real convincing, Kate."

"Good," Kate says. "Now I know I should definitely take acting off my list of possible career paths."

Poppy sits up then, cross-legged, and looks back at Kate. "I grew up in LA. If I shunned people for being openly gay, I wouldn't have so many amazing one-of-a-kind designer clothes."

Kate keeps looking at the sky, trying to recognise constellations. She hasn't studied any astronomy in a while, and it's more difficult than she thought it would be. In the back of her mind, she knows Poppy's waiting for an answer, and that's even harder to give.

"So you are, right?" Poppy insists. "Gay?"

Kate meets her eyes then, at the word. She bites her lip—it feels dry, rough from the night-time cold. It crosses her mind that she should be honest if she expects honesty from other people, and she's generally good enough at following her own advice. So she nods, lets out a breathy laugh, and says, "Yeah."

Poppy smiles reassuringly and squeezes her knee. "Thanks," she says. "Does everyone know?"

Kate shrugs. She thinks Kiki does, but they haven't talked about it. It's just never been truly relevant, and Kate doesn't like to make a big deal out of something that shouldn't be.

Poppy doesn't insist on getting an answer to that one, though.

 

*

 

It's not like it's that odd for Kate to be a lesbian, or gay, or into girls, or whatever she identifies as. It's statistically probable, given the amount of girls at school. Poppy's just surprised because—well, everyone who was out at her old school was loud and proud and made out with people at parties, and Kate is not dull or a nun or anything, but she has that sober thing going on and is polite and mostly behaves in public.

Poppy's sure there are quiet girls back in LA who are gay, too. Poppy just hasn't noticed any of them. She's only noticed the ones who will sleep with anyone to get a part or feel attractive or distract themselves from another rejection. She's noticed the ones who wouldn't _date_ another girl. Who wouldn't care until they're old and famous enough to hire People to cover their fairytale wedding.

She means to ask Kate about it—if she's kissed a girl before, if she likes boys too, if she said yes to being gay just because she didn't want to deal with explaining anything more complicated to Poppy—but they get caught up in a leak getting fixed in their dorm, and weekends being for unwinding, not ambushing people, and getting the lacrosse team back into shape, and studying for tests. She never seems to get around to it.

The third week of October, she finds Kate in the library, bent over a maths notebook and clutching the cuff of her sleeves. She sits down next to her and offers the Vivienne Westwood cardigan she brought in case anybody needed an extra layer, even though the school is mostly warm. Studying can be a cooling experience.

"Thanks," Kate says softly as she slides it on.

Poppy smiles and, noting the half crossed-out to-do list on Kate's diary, says, "Regretting all that flirting now, are you?"

She has no idea where it comes from, just that it feels a lot more pointed than it sounds. Like it's been building up, like it's an accusation, and Poppy can't figure out why it should matter, or why it should seem wrong to her, or how it would even affect her at all. She's pretty sure she's not harboring any deep-seated homophobia, but she worries she might for a second there.

Kate turns to her, eyes questioning, lips on the verge of a smile. "Regretting the weekend we went shopping for new outfits instead of book-hunting like we were supposed to," Kate sighs easily. "If we hadn't postponed that, I would be more than done already."

Poppy's really glad these girls' flair for the dramatics is usually a conscious decision.

 

*

 

Drippy gets mildly sick and terribly whiny three days before their half-term holidays, and Kate ends up as her unofficially appointed nurse. She thinks they should have picked Kiki—Kate may be responsible, but she's dreadfully forgetful when it comes to keeping up with prescribed regimens.

She's been wearing Poppy's cardigan every now and again since that day at the library, and it only occurs to her to give it back when she's watching Drippy's temperature rise on the thermometer.

When Poppy's out the door, Drippy squeals, and Kate almost drops her stopwatch.

"God, Drippy," Kate complains.

"Jesus Christ, you're in love with her," Drippy says, bouncing on the bed with the type of energy someone who just had a coughing fit should not possess.

"That is—something of a _terrifying leap_, Drippy," Kate says.

"Fine, you fancy her," Drippy exhales, like it's a huge effort to admit Kate is right. As though it doesn't happen on a daily basis. "I've seen the way you look at her. I've seen the looonging," she mocks.

Kate huffs like that's an outrageous lie, and she opens her mouth to deny it, but what comes out is, "I just like her, that's all." Which is letting Drippy assume things—assume Kate's not been as successful giving up on this _thing_ she feels for Poppy than she thought.

"Better than the rest of us," Drippy adds perkily.

"Differently than the rest of you," Kate admits.

There's a moment of silence; Drippy lies back down, as was the purpose of Kate putting her to bed herself, and Kate's eyes randomly settle on Poppy's empty, disastrously made bed.

And then Drippy says, "Wow, you're really fucked, aren't you?" and if Kate even vaguely hoped Poppy mentioned her recurrent flirting because she'd been looking—because she'd felt jealous—, then yeah, she probably really is.

She shrugs, and has to laugh to get rid of the lump in her throat.

 

*

 

Poppy gets ready for the social this year with no ulterior motives other than enjoying herself and bettering the outfits she put together last year. She even got coaxed into doing a few unofficial jobs for girls in other dorms, and she's seriously considering adding a sewing machine to her Christmas list—she's pretty sure Kate knows how to use one, so maybe Poppy could ask her to teach her.

She thinks it's a pretty good plan.

The thing with plans, though, is they tend to go awry even at their simplest.

As good as Kiki is at setting things in motion on purpose, sometime somebody should tell her that even doing something for no reason can have disastrous consequences.

"I understand you broke up with him, if that, somewhat recently, but he's the only guy in the room who hasn't stepped on anyone's feet since year nine," she reasons after asking Poppy's permission to persuade Freddie to dance with her. "And I've really got a good symbiotic relationship with my toes—they allow me to walk, and I put socks and shoes on them and keep them clean and out of harm's way. Harm meaning uncoordinated behemoths in this instance."

Poppy smiles, a little contrived, and says, "Sure. Enjoy." It's not like she has a reason to say no. They're just going to _dance_, and she can't have a monopoly on his dancing when she's not even willing to take advantage of it. Plus, it's kind of stupid to be hung up on someone she hasn't spoken to in so long.

Still, it's at that point that the night begins to derail.

A few terrible songs and more booze than Poppy can handle later, Kate starts dancing with some older guy from Freddie's school who is clearly not even remotely good enough for her—Poppy's pretty sure he's not good enough for _Drippy_, and Drippy's standards are as low as they come.

She would be a bad friend if she interrupted and it turned out the guy's some kind of genius or rich or just dancing with her because an angel came down and told him it would save the world, so instead she clutches the nearest arm she can find and finds herself face to face with Freddie.

She may have known it was him before deciding to cling to his sleeve. She's not entirely sure.

"Hey," Freddie says belatedly—delayed reaction.

"Hey," she says cheerfully, smiling in that way she knows makes her barely existent dimples pop. "Come on, I love this song."

He follows her to the central platform somewhat reluctantly, like he's not sure what he's agreeing to, and he has a point—Poppy doesn't know what she's looking to get out of this either, but dancing is something she's good at, so she focuses on that for the moment, drawing his hands to her waist.

"Poppy," he says, expression half amused, half perplexed, "I realize you may not be aware of this in your inebriated state, but you've been ignoring me since that nonsensical call after I flew back from LA."

"Well, we're past that now," she says, and surges forward to kiss him. She gets the side of his mouth, and pulls back when he doesn't respond. "What's wrong?"

"I'm tired of you getting drunk and throwing yourself at me," Freddie says. He adds, just to tease, "It does make me wonder if you've got to be a bit literally blind to ignore my flaws."

Poppy bites her lip and hides her head, abashed. "I've only done that once."

"Twice now," Freddie says, but he's smiling now. "Does this mean you're not angry at me anymore? 'Cause I would appreciate the ability to walk these halls again without cowering in terror every time I hear footsteps."

"Aw, you cower in terror?" Poppy coos. "That's so sweet."

Freddie laughs, and just like that it's like she's forgiven him and—they're not friends, but they could be—and they can dance with each other companionably, at least until Poppy's foot twists of its own volition and Freddie has to catch her before she falls.

"This might not be my call," Freddie says, "but I believe it may be time to call it a night for you, trouble. Come on," he says, stepping out of the platform and dragging her down with him, "I'll take you to bed."

"Oh, but that would be so inappropriate for a gentleman and a young lady like myself," Poppy says, dramatizing for full effect.

"That is only partially true," Freddie says, but he looks around until he spots Kate, who's had about as much to drink as Poppy, but seems to be holding her liquor with marginally greater success than Poppy is. He gestures for her to approach them. "Can you make sure this gets to bed safely?"

Kate looks from Poppy to Freddie and back to Poppy. "You sure you don't want to stay a while long—"

Poppy feels a wave of nausea and slurs, "I think I'm going to be sick," which seems to be enough of an answer for Kate, despite the sensation fading away as suddenly as it appeared and Poppy adding, "No, no, false alarm."

Kate shakes her head and offers her arm for Poppy to hold onto.

They start walking, Poppy babbling about something even her brain isn't registering, Kate trying not to laugh and failing every time. They're halfway up the stairs where Poppy slips and almost tumbles over a single step. "Oh," she says, "we should totally slide down the banister sometime."

"Sure, Poppy," Kate says, "I'll see if I can fit that into my schedule."

"No, really," Poppy says, "how about right now?"

"If you want to break your skull, absolutely, go for it," Kate says.

Poppy slides out of Kate's hold and rests back on the banister—she's not an idiot, she's not jumping onto hardwood in this state. She would if there were water waiting for her at the bottom. But it's nice to pause and breathe. It's quiet here, just the faint sound of footsteps and music seeping in from the room they just left, and Kate is tilting her head and watching Poppy with a puzzled look on her face, like she doesn't know what Poppy's doing but isn't worried she'll hurt herself either, and there's something else there, something like—like the way she used to look at Poppy before, last year, even sometimes during the summer. The way Kate hasn't looked at Poppy in a while.

The realization feels heavy on her stomach, how much she missed being on the receiving end of that look.

She's not sure why she leans back over the banister. Her elbows bend to accommodate the angle of her back, and Kate takes a step forward and extends her arm to hold Poppy back by the wrist.

"I'm okay," Poppy says, feeling somehow soberer than just five seconds ago. She grasps at Kate's hand, effectively getting Kate to back off, but she doesn't let go when Kate pulls back—she glances down, distantly looks at her own thumb circling Kate's palm, and when she tilts her head up Kate's gaze is intense and distracted and entirely focused on Poppy's lips.

By the way Kate's eyes widen when she sways forward, Poppy knows she wasn't expecting to be kissed. By the way she kisses back for about a second before breaking away, Poppy knows she wasn't making things up. She knows she's not alone in this.

"What's wrong?" Poppy whispers. She thinks if Kate wanted to let go completely, her fingers wouldn't be gripping Poppy's wrist this tightly.

"You're seriously hammered right now, Poppy," Kate attempts. The words sound like filler, like forced space between them. There shouldn't be any right now.

"I seriously want to kiss you right now, _Kate_," Poppy says, hoping her tone conveys her honesty. She may be drunk, but she's not stupid. She knows what she wants, she knows what _Kate_ wants, and—

Kate bites her lip and gets a glint in her eye and—okay, she's had more than a little to drink, too, and the concept of consequences hangs probably as solid in her mind right now as it does in Poppy's, and she finds herself dragged upstairs before she can register Kate's intentions, pushed gently back against a wall in the dim hallway.

"Oh, hey," she says, mostly out of bafflement, "that was fast," and then Kate's hands are holding onto her hips, Poppy's dress bundling up around her waist above them, and Kate's leaning in and taking this noisy, deep breath, like she's about to sink underwater, and leaning in to lick Poppy's lips open.

 

*

 

Poppy's throwing up in the bathroom before the sun's even fully up yet, and just the thought of dealing with what happened last night makes Kate want to be sick right alongside her. _This_ is why you don't fall for or crush on or develop _things_ for your dorm mates—you've got to see them every day of every week of the rest of the year whether you're on good terms or you fucked up so badly they won't even speak to you.

Technically, Kate knows this particular quandary they're now in is not her fault, and she's not going to let it be, or let it last.

"So Freddie and Poppy seemed to be getting along last night," Kiki says. "I wonder if we could get some car rides out of their renewed acquaintance. He seemed receptive to the idea when I asked."

"That is a fine approach," Josie says, "though you might want to make sure Poppy's on board with all this."

"They need to talk," Kate says brightly, flash of inspiration. "They need to talk through their issues and remember what they liked about each other."

"They need this, they need that," Drippy mocks. "You know what I need? I need hair dye. My body may reach the weekend with my hair looking pants, but my dignity's got a feeling it won't make it."

And from that, Kate gets an idea. It's not very original, but it'll get the job done.

 

*

 

"I thought I was picking up Drippy," Freddie says the second he spots her.

"I... didn't think you would be here," Poppy says, glancing back for some reason. She doesn't really think the girls have set her up. "I was heading over to the lacrosse field for—you know what, I'm not entirely sure what the point of that was," she admits, to him and herself. She totally does think that.

The silence gets a bit awkward—Freddie's fidgeting with his car keys, Poppy's just standing there with her thumbs hooked into her belt loops, feeling the wind shake her fringe—bangs—whatever—and the silence feels sort of aimless, but not totally painful.

She breaks it anyway. "So what were Drippy's plans?"

"I was going to take her to get her hair fixed in exchange for an undetermined, future favor I'd likely never cash in," he says. "Why?"

"Well, you're already here," she says. "I could go for some ice-cream."

"Bit cold for that, isn't it?"

Poppy laughs and walks around the car. "If bad weather was a reason to not have ice-cream, you guys wouldn't even know there was such a thing," she says, and hops in.

He eyes her curiously. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to go on a date right now."

"Probably not, but who said anything about a date?" Poppy asks, faking outrage. "I'm just trying to rekindle our friendship, is all."

"When were we ever friends?" Freddie asks, grinning, and gets in the car with her.

They catch up over coffee and weirdly shaped English pastries—Poppy will never, ever get used to them—and they're walking down a sharply inclined pebbly road when Poppy thinks, screw it, and says,

"I think there's—somebody. New. In my life." She snorts, just a tired breath. "It's complicated."

"This is really not a date, huh?"

Poppy slaps his arm halfheartedly. "Really not a date," she confirms.

"So who is this person? It's not complicated 'cause it's a relative, is it? Because, let me say, I had a roommate last year who wound up snogging his cousin at this one party and it was extremely disturbing and I would—advise against it. And rather not hear any of the details."

Poppy laughs, says, "Nah, no. It's not wrong as such."

There's a pause, and then Freddie stops in his tracks and turns to face her. "Wait, you're—are you the Romeo in this scenario?"

She frowns for a second—she's not doing a play, and she's not throwing rocks at anybody's window, and she's not about to shoot herself in the head. "Well, not _exactly_, I wouldn't say," she attempts.

"But you've got—oh, crap, it's _Kate_, isn't it?" He laughs triumphantly. It throws Poppy off a little, but he realizes what he meant—the Romeo as in, she has a Juliet. She has a _Kate_. "I knew there was something going on."

"What, when?"

"Last year."

"Um, Kate and I were just friends—oh." She blinks. "So I didn't make that up, did I?"

Freddie chuckles. "If by 'that' you mean to refer to Kate's badly hidden gazing and coy look-avoiding, I'm fairly certain you did not imagine it. Unless we both did. And it would be telling in ways I'm not sure I'm comfortable with for both of us to have magically reached the conclusion that your _female_ best friend's in love with you."

"Well," Poppy concedes, pushing her bangs out of her eye, "that sheds light on a few things."

"I'd imagine it does," Freddie agrees, face caught in that amused, vaguely patronizing expression he gets when Poppy does something odd.

She feels a wave of something like embarrassment wash over her, but it's not a bad feeling.

 

*

 

"Shit," Kate says, and Josie and Kiki and Drippy all turn to see what prompted such an unusual loss of control.

Out the window, she can see Poppy and Freddie hug goodbye, and considering everything that happened last year, she's reasonably certain this doesn't mean they're afraid to get caught—they're just not kissing. They haven't got back together.

Which, well—_shit_.

"Oh my God, are you pregnant?" Drippy exclaims, and Kate has to glare at her. This is not the time to make jokes.

"No, Drippy, I'm not pregnant."

Drippy rolls her eyes to the ceiling and waits for her to continue for about five seconds before letting out a long-suffering breath and taking matters into her own hands.

"Kate," Drippy says, "I say this as your very, very good friend who quite enjoys spending weekends at spas with you and your mum, but you're driving all of us up the fucking wall right now. You've got to talk this out."

Kiki coughs. "'This' being her massive crush on Poppy, yes?"

"Oh my God," Josie chimes in, "why didn't you _tell_ us?" She turns to Kiki and adds, "Why didn't you tell _me_?"

"I don't just out people without their permission," says Kiki. "Also, I wasn't sure."

Kate opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a huff of outrage.

"Look, she's kind of thick," Kiki says. "Worldly, possibly, but not very conscious of life as not pictured on the silver screen. You need to do something. Something obvious which will leave no room for misinterpretation or cowardice."

"I refuse to allow you to storyboard my love life, sorry," Kate says.

They see Poppy again at dinner, and Kiki's the first to ask about Freddie, though Kate thinks they were all planning to—save Kate from doing something stupid, such as list off reasons why Poppy should, actually, try dating Freddie again.

They're a bit psychic.

"We're good," Poppy says. "No more awkward skirting around each other in the dining halls. We're friends now."

It's tempting to believe the way Poppy looks at her next, with something like curiosity, tentativeness, is Kate's own fabrication, but there's this feeling low in her belly, this feeling of inevitability, like she's done everything she could to avoid dealing with this and all she's left to do is, screw the consequences, dive in.

She's startlingly comfortable with that prospect.

 

*

 

Lacrosse practice feels odd with just Josie on the team this year. Poppy likes her teammates, she really does, but she misses sharing this with Kate and Drippy and Kiki, even though they were all pretty terrible players.

When she gets back to the dorm, Drippy's on her way out the door.

"Poppy! What a wonderful coincidence, I was _just_ leaving," Drippy says, widening her eyes meaningfully. Poppy has no idea what the meaning of it is, but there's no doubt Drippy's trying to convey something. "Will you please, please put her out of misery?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Poppy blurts out.

Drippy blinks at her, eyebrow firmly raised, and declares, "You're both atrocious liars, the other one's out on the roof for some reason, and I'm leaving to give you some completely undeserved privacy."

Kate's not actually _on_ the roof, but rather sitting on the long sill over the window seat, legs out and shoes on the roof tiles.

Poppy joins her there without much ado, and Kate acknowledges her presence by sliding over to give Poppy room, but doesn't return her gaze.

"Hey," Poppy says, and Kate's lips curve upwards in a reticent smile. "There's really nothing going on with Freddie anymore."

Kate nods lightly, keeps looking forward. "I know. I—need to talk to you."

Poppy bites her lip, waits.

"Drippy threatened to cut off my hair in my sleep if I didn't," Kate says. "And that's likely not where my might lies, but I'd rather not test that theory."

Which is still not something you _need_ to talk to somebody about.

Kate tilts her head to the side and turns to Poppy, looking up and meeting her eyes for all of point three seconds before letting out a deep, exasperated breath.

"This is ridiculous," Poppy shares, and Kate laughs, she really laughs, and everything feels so much less awful and ponderous when that heartfelt sound rips through the suspended atmosphere.

"You're telling me," Kate says, finally looking back, and Poppy's whole body lights up, turns towards the source of attention. She eyes her glove warily, worried it will stain, but she holds onto the edge of the windowsill regardless.

Poppy presses her lips together. "Since subtlety doesn't seem to work for us," she says, and Kate snickers, "I am not drunk, this is not a random impulse and I am not going to regret it in the morning. Or afternoon. Or night."

Kate frowns and shakes her head minimally in confusion, and Poppy leans in, eying Kate's hand as it cups her cheek. Kate giggles for a moment, a gesture more dignified on her than most people, and then matches Poppy's grin and parts her lips instinctively, ready to be kissed.

Poppy returns the giggle, letting the tension trickle like air out of her mouth, and complies.


End file.
